


A Prelude to Discipline

by dracoqueen22



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Batman is not amused and Superman has no shame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prelude to Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely references the Justice League episode "A Savage Time"

“Did you have to act like I was an infectious disease?” Clark asks, or whines rather. He would never call it a whine, of course, but Bruce calls them as he sees them, and obviously, that voice is nothing more than a whine. 

“Did you have to manhandle me in front of the entire league?” Bruce counters brusquely, all without looking over his shoulder, fingers calmly racing over his keyboard. 

He knows if he looks, Boy Scout blue eyes will be hurt and pleading and Bruce will give in because, genius though he is, Batman is quite the idiot when it comes to Superman, and that balance of power never shifts or changes no matter how fiercely Batman fights it. 

“That was a _hug_. You could stand to experience a few more of them.” 

Bruce works his jaw. Types another string of words that in no way constitute a complete sentence; Clark is just that distracting. “It felt like an attack.” 

He can practically _hear_ Clark roll his eyes. “Please. Like you'd actually admit I managed to ruffle you.” He also sounds half-gleeful, like he's struck on the one thing that will rattle Bruce's cage. 

Bruce doesn't deign to give Clark with an answer. He refuses to join in this childish banter. He has _work_ to do, like transcribing their memories of their trip into the past into his personal database, for future reference, of course. As much as he hates to admit it, Bruce is not going to live forever and someone else may benefit from this information. 

A whisper of movement and Clark is much closer than before, looming over the back of Bruce's chair, pretending to pay attention to what he is typing, but really paying attention to Bruce himself. 

“Bruce,” he says, leaning against the back of the chair, exuding friendliness and desire and amusement and – knowing Clark like Batman does – the beginning tendrils of lust. “Would you rather I had asked permission?” 

Inwardly, Bruce scoffs. Oh, that would go over _so_ well. Wally would have had a field day with that voiced request. Diana would have laughed, politely and into her hand, but she still would have laughed. 

Is Clark insane? 

“I would _rather_ ,” Bruce says, slowly and carefully so that even Clark understands, “that you didn't exercise your need for physical affection in a public arena.” 

He starts typing again in the moment of silence that follows. Bruce can almost _hear_ the gears of Clark's brain turning as he listens, interprets, and then promptly ignores half of what Bruce said. That's just the way Clark's mind works. 

Abruptly, Bruce's chair tips backward as Clark leans his weight against it, one arm slung across the back of it and a chin balanced on the wrist. 

“Does this mean I can touch you all I want in private?” Clark asks with no small amount of glee, just as a glancing touch drags down Bruce's arm, invoking a prickle of his flesh that no measure of self-control can force down.

Bruce closes his eyes, breathes in and out, and tells himself that now is not the time to be distracted. No matter how distracting Clark is when he uses that particular tone of voice. 

“I am in the middle of something, Clark,” he reminds the other man, and then reminds his own fingers to move again. He's managed a half-sentence in the past five minutes, when his transcribing would usually be done by now. 

Such is the effect of Clark. 

Those skilled and treacherous fingers have yet to disappear. Stroking, now, in an upward pattern to the bared and vulnerable skin of Bruce's collarbone. It was hardly a caress, more a whisper of warm skin to warm skin, but Bruce's belly tightens all the same. A wash of heat seems to radiate from the points where Clark touches him.

“But you'll be done soon, yes?” Clark asks, his voice a low purr that vibrates through Bruce's entire being. 

“Yes.” His answer is more breathy than Bruce would have liked and it's all Clark's fault. 

It usually is. 

Clark hums in his throat. “Good,” he says, and those dangerous fingers flit across Bruce's collarbone again, daring to brush over the sensitive skin of his throat. 

Trying to restrain the resulting shiver, Bruce returns to his report by sheer force of will, fingers rhythmic over the keyboard. He's about halfway through at this point, and the comfortable quiet that settles between him and Clark is just that: comfortable. He likes moments like these, where Clark keeps his mouth shut and Bruce gets his work done and all is right with the universe. 

“So am I forgiven?” 

Bruce bites back a sigh. Clark never does keep silent for long. “Forgiveness would imply a certain measure of toleration in your case.” 

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?” 

“Would you actually mean it?” 

Clark chuckles and leans a bit harder on the chair, momentarily putting Bruce off balance and forcing him to readjust. “Bruce Wayne cuts no man a break. Not even Superman.” 

“Boy Scouts need discipline more than the average citizen.” Despite himself, Bruce's lips twitch toward a smirk. 

“Discipline...” Clark repeats in a low voice, and his fingers pause in their stroking, only to renew with increased persistence mere seconds later. “Bruce, you have three minutes to finish that report.” 

The threat in his tone makes the heat coiling low in Bruce's belly flare up again, just as types up the last sentence and clicks _save_. “Or what?” he challenges. 

Glancing up as the monitor goes grey with Power Saver mode, he catches sight of Clark's expression in it's reflection. Nothing short of smoldering, desperate desire. 

This time, Bruce does shiver. _Bring it on_. 

* * * 


End file.
